Tarnished Honor Page 10

  He was certain he could.

  He pushed into the offices of Mordecai and Fisk and was assailed with the musty scent of old books. The room was dingy and cluttered. Light barely filtered in through the high windows. A slender, elderly, gnomelike man with muttonchops and thick spectacles sat at a desk, behind piles of papers, frowning and muttering to himself. He didn’t notice he had a visitor until Daniel cleared his throat. His head shot up and he peered at Daniel like a little furry owl.

  “Oh, pardon. Pardon. I beg your pardon.” He dropped his quill and leaped to his feet, scrubbing the ink from his fingers on his wool trousers. “May I help you?”

  “Yes, please. I’m here to see Ezra Mordecai.” Daniel pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it over.

  The man scanned it and his fishy lips parted. “Fisk!” he warbled. “Fisk, you must come at once.”

  A grumble issued from the connecting room and another man waddled into the chamber. With the exception of his roundness, he was nearly a match to the other, sporting even muttonier muttonchops and thicker glasses.

  Daniel bit his cheek to keep from smiling.

  “What is it, Mordecai?” he asked in that grumbly tone which was, apparently, his natural speaking voice.

  Mordecai waved the letter. “It’s him. He’s come.”

  “What? Who?” Fisk adjusted his spectacles on the bridge of his nose and scanned the letter. His eyes narrowed and he pinned Daniel with a sharp gaze. Then he snorted. “Well, he took his damn time about it, did he no’?”

  Daniel blinked. “I beg your pardon—”

  “Oh, do come in,” Mordecai interjected, taking Daniel’s arm and leading him into another chamber that was something of a sitting room. Unlike the offices, it was quite plush and outfitted with comfortable chairs and had a large bow window, letting in the light. He waved at one of the Hepplewhites. “Please sit, Lord Sinclair.”

  Heat prickled Daniel’s neck. A sudden mortification washed through him. Well, hell. Had this letter come to him by mistake? Had they summoned the wrong Sinclair? Had he come all this way for nothing? “I beg your pardon. I am Daniel Sinclair.”

  “Aye. Aye.” Mordecai squinted at him through thick spectacles.

  “I’m hardly a lord.”

  Mordecai looked at Fisk and Fisk looked right back. “Oh dear. He doesna know.”

  “He doesna know.”

  “Indeed. I daresay he does no’.”

  “Know what?”

  “I thought we told him.”

  “I was certain we did.”

  “Told me what?”

  “For heaven’s sake, I thought we were clear.”

  “We were perfectly clear.”

  “Sirs!” A bellow.

  This caught their attention. Their heads, in tandem, turned. “Aye?”

  “Would you mind telling me what you’re talking about?”

  “Lord Sinclair—”

  “I am not a lord.”

  “I regret to inform you, your uncle has died.”

  Oh for pity sake. He knew that. “Yes. I am aware of that.” And he’d left Daniel some pittance. “That doesna make me a lord. His son, Fergus, would be the new baron.”

  Mordecai fiddled with the letter. He and Fisk shared a look and Fisk whispered, “He doesna know.”

  “I told you he dinna know.”

  “I thought we told him.”

  “I’m certain we did.”

  “Sirs!”

  They startled and stared at him, their lips working. They might have mouthed, He doesna know, or something of the like.

  “Will you please tell me what has happened?”

  “Certainly. Your uncle has died.”

  Daniel sighed.

  “A massive apoplexy by the looks of it.”

  “A shame.” It was not, but it was a polite lie.

  “Naturally, Fergus inherited. The title. The house. The money.”

  “Naturally.

  Fisk narrowed his eyes. “Naturally, he, ah, celebrated.”

  Disgust churned in Daniel’s gut. He had not celebrated when his father died. But with his recollections of Fergus, he wasn’t surprised that his cousin had. He’d been a mean and spiteful boy.

  Mordecai nodded. “Stewed himself to the gills.”

  “There was…an unfortunate incident.”

  “Involving a horse.”

  Fisk leaned closer and whispered, “A trampling.”

  “How…unpleasant.”

  “Indeed.” Fisk nodded. “At any rate, you have inherited.”

  Daniel frowned at him. “Inherited what?”

  “All of it.”

  All of what?

  “The house in Dunbeath, the title.”

  “The horse.”

  But… “There was another heir. Callum.”

  “Humph,” Fisk grumbled.

  Mordecai leaned forward and set his hand on Daniel’s and whispered, “France,” as though that explained it all. But then, it did.

  It was difficult to process. His uncle and both his cousins were gone. And he was the sole heir to a property he barely remembered. His mind reeled. He’d never anticipated such a thing. Never expected to be anything more than that which he was and always had been. A penniless mongrel.

  Uncle William would be turning in his grave.

  No doubt the house was rundown and ramshackle. Daniel remembered it being so as a child. And while his uncle had at one time been a man of means, he’d also had the unfortunate habit of living beyond them. He’d been an inveterate gambler, swinging wildly between affluence and penury. It was hard to say on which point on the pendulum he had met his end, but Daniel did not hold on to hope that there would be much left.

  But he couldn’t still the trill of excitement at the thought…he owned a house. He had some money. Something. Surely enough to keep a wife.

  Surely enough to keep her.

  The solicitors droned on, going over the various points of Uncle William’s will and elements of the law that took over where it left off. Then they peppered Daniel with a litany of things he must do now, straight away, such as report to the magistrate in Borgue, who could officiate his title and provide the specifics of this benefice.

  But he wasn’t paying much attention. He was swamped with thoughts of Pippin. With the realization they wouldn’t have to part today. This thing between them—whatever it was—was not over. He could escort her to Wick. It was not so far from Dunbeath. Perhaps in that time he could convince her to stay with him instead. Perhaps he could convince her to stay with him altogether.

  It was a dizzying thought.

  He was so beset with it, he had no recollection of returning to the inn. Indeed, he fairly flew back to her. He leaped from the saddle and tossed the reins to the ostler and was heading inside to find her, to tell her, to hold her when, from behind him, someone called, “I say. Corporal Sinclair? Is that you?”

  His steps stalled. His gut clenched at the familiar tones of a dreaded voice. Slowly, he turned. And yes. Indeed. It was he. Lieutenant Grant. Daniel grimaced and then forced a smile as his nemesis approached. They’d served together in the Greys, though Grant had been an officer, and a cocky one at that. He and Daniel had rarely seen eye to eye. Aside from which, Grant was a lord and didn’t hesitate to let everyone know it.

  He was tall and broad with sand-colored hair, brown eyes and a patrician nose. He walked with a swagger and his lips usually curled with something that could easily be interpreted as a smirk. Beyond which, his manner intimated his superiority to all men, most especially to a corporal beneath his command.

  Daniel was not beneath his command now. Still he tendered a respectful bow. “Grant,” he said, taking the other man’s hand. “Well met.”

  “Indeed. It is good to see a familiar face,” he said, his expression—shockingly—sincere. “What are you doing in Inverness? I’d heard you were staying in England.”

  “Ah, yes. I’m here meeting with a solicitor.”

  G
rant wrinkled his nose. “Enjoyable.”

  “Quite.”

  Daniel started as Grant wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him into the inn. They’d never been friends. This show of amity was a shock. “Have a drink with me. We should catch up.”

  “Ah…” He wanted nothing less. In fact, what he wanted, more than anything, was to find Pippin and bed her again. To tell her his news and offer a proposal that they travel together to the Highlands. But Grant tugged him to a table and lifted a finger to the serving girl and for some reason, Daniel allowed it. Not that he wanted to catch up with Grant. Not that he cared what the man had been up to in all these months, but there was something in his tone, in his expression that echoed in his own soul—a hunger for the companionship of a man who had shared an experience one could not make peace with on his own. Though they were not friends, and probably never would be, an experience like Waterloo bound men together with unbreakable bonds.

  So he sat. And accepted a flagon of ale. And prepared to spend some time with a man he had never liked.

  “So, Sinclair,” Grant gusted. “Do tell. What have you been up to?”

  Daniel lifted a shoulder. “Not much. Recuperating.”

  “Ah yes. Your leg. I see you’re walking again.”

  “A mercy, that.”

  “Indeed. And where were you staying?”

  Good gad, he actually seemed interested. “Worth took me in.”

  “Ah, Worth. Good man. Good man.”

  “Indeed.”

  “And how is he doing?” Was it Daniel’s imagination or was there a hint of desperation in the question? In the conversation?

  “Rather well.”

  Grant sighed, something wistful. “Time does heal all wounds, I suppose.”

  “One would hope.”

  Grant fell silent and toyed with his cup. He glanced around the common room and then, at length, leaned in and said softly, “May I ask you something, Sinclair?” He seemed so somber, so sincere, Daniel nodded without thinking. “Do you…?” He ran a finger around his collar as if it were too tight. “Do you have…dreams about it?” He didn’t need to clarify. Daniel knew at once what he meant.

  Something cold traced his spine. He took a quaff of his ale, surely not to swallow down any heinous memories. “Every night.” Or nearly so. He hadn’t had them since… Well, since Pippin.

  Grant blew out a breath and sat back, something akin to relief on his face. “Me too.” His Adam’s apple worked. “I canna seem to forget.”

  “Perhaps we are not meant to forget.” He didn’t want to forget. Not Hamilton, nor Lennox nor any of the others.

  His companion’s eyes bulged. “Not meant to forget?” Horror tangled in his tone.

  “Our memory honors those who fell. Perhaps they live, even a little, in us.”

  “Oh yes. Yes, of course.” Grant let go a laugh that was a trifle manic. “I mistook your meaning.” When Daniel arched a brow, he waved a hand and mumbled something about the torments of hell.

  Daniel didn’t respond. It had been hell, that battle, and in the nightmares he relived it again and again. It had occurred to him that such nightly visitations were a punishment for his acts on the battlefield, payment for all the men he’d killed. But the nightmares were easing. Maybe God had forgiven him. He’d certainly answered Daniel’s prayer, providing a miracle right one cue.

  It was almost enough to restore his faith.

  The two men sipped on their ale in silence, both reflecting on their private thoughts. Their secret regrets. Then Grant cleared his throat. “So, Sinclair, what will you do once your business here in Inverness is finished? I ask because in a few months, I’m hosting a reunion of sorts at Grantham. You might like to attend.”

  “A reunion?”

  “Some of the men from our regiment. Nothing fancy. Simply a…reunion.”

  A reunion. In a few months. “When?”

  Grant cleared his throat again. “June.”

  Ah. Not a reunion. An anniversary.

  “Fitzgerald will be there and Dingle and Crumm.”

  All good men. He’d liked them very much. “I would enjoy that, if I’m still around.”

  “Where do you anticipate you’ll be?”

  Good lord. He had no idea. Not the foggiest notion. “I’m not sure. Tomorrow I’m heading to Dunbeath to inspect an inheritance—”

  “An inheritance?” Grant clapped Daniel on the back, causing him to spill his drink. “Good for you. What did you inherit?”

  “A house.” And a title, presumably, but he didn’t care to mention that yet, not until he knew more. Mordecai and Fisk were decidedly blurry on the specifics. Aside from which, Daniel was still convinced that when he arrived in Borgue, the magistrate would laugh and wave it all off as some horrible mistake.

  “A house. How nice. Cause for celebration.” He raised a finger and ordered more drinks though they had not finished those they had.

  Daniel lifted his cup. “I have no idea what manner of house it is. I haven’t been in Dunbeath since I was in short pants.” It had not been a pleasant visit.

  “Dunbeath is lovely. You’ll enjoy it there.”

  “If the house is habitable.”

  “Indeed. And if it is, and you stay, I should hope you and I might see each other once in a while.” He set his hand on Daniel’s arm; his expression was solemn. “I could use a friend like you nearby.”

  Well, they weren’t friends, at least they hadn’t been. How odd that it seemed as though they might be now. Regardless, Daniel knew exactly what he meant. There were many who understood their wounds, had lived them, but they were scattered all over the globe. There was nothing as comforting as a friend with whom one could commiserate—face-to-face.

  “I would like that.”

  “Excellent.” Grant’s face broke into a smile, and it was not a smug one in the slightest. It seemed…humble, grateful even. “When do you leave?”

  “Most likely on the morrow.” No doubt he and Pippin would want to be on their way at once. They still had quite a ways to travel.

  “Excellent! I am leaving on the morrow as well. Heading home to Grantham, don’t you know. We shall travel together.”

  Oh.

  Hell.

  Daniel swallowed. He could hardly refuse this man, this man who might be his friend. His neighbor. But he didn’t want to travel with him. For one thing, how long could he keep Pippin’s secret? For another, how would he explain it to Grant when, at each posting house, he shared a room with his companion?

  It could be, indeed, awkward.

  But there was no way he could wriggle out of the invitation.

  Chapter Ten

  Daniel was gone most of the day. Fia swung between fretting that he might not return at all, agonizing over each second with him lost, and glorying in the memories of the past few nights. It ate at her soul that it was nearly time for them to part. If only he would take her with him. She would go with him anywhere.

  She could only pray that his uncle had left him something, some small inheritance. Was it selfish for her to hope he had? That he’d left Daniel enough to change his mind about keeping her with him? Although part of her feared that the money might be only part of it. Only his excuse. There was no doubt he’d enjoyed their tangling, but he was a man and men saw such things differently. He might not want more. Might not want what she did.

  When he finally pushed through the door to their room, she greeted him with a frown. He smiled and wrapped her in his arms and kissed it off her lips. “What’s the matter, puss?” he cooed.

  “You were gone a long time.”

  He paused in the process of unfastening his collar. “I’m sorry. The meeting took quite a bit of time and then…I ran into a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “Aye. We…had a lengthy chat.”

  “I hope it was pleasant.”

  He blinked at her starchy tone. “It…was.”

  “Good.” Because honestly. This was t
heir last day together. And he’d spent it with someone else. Her mood took a tumble. “How did your meeting with the solicitors go?” It was the only thing she could think to say.

  “It was…surprising.”

  “Did your uncle leave you a pittance?”

  “In fact, he did not.”

  No. Of course not. She sighed and turned away.

  “In point of fact, I inherited everything.”

  She stilled. Then whirled around. Her jaw dropped. “What?”

  Daniel grinned and opened his arms, inviting her in. “I doona know what it all means yet, Pippin. I doona know the details of the estate, but I do know I have inherited a house in Dunbeath. And a horse.”

  “A house in Dunbeath?” It sounded lovely. Lovelier still was the way his arms closed around her, the glimmer in his eye.

  He tapped her on the nose. “Dunbeath is near Wick.”

  Her heart lurched. Her throat worked. “Near Wick?”

  “What do you think about traveling there…together?”

  “Together?” She was aware she was parroting his every word, but she couldn’t help it. Joy, glorious joy swept through her. “Oh, Daniel!” She reached up and kissed him, a quick, elated buss.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Want to?” There she went again. “Yes. Yes. Oh yes!”

  He picked her up and spun her around. Elation made her giddy. This was not their last day together. Not at all.

  It wasn’t until they had made love—slowly and leisurely as now there was no rush to speak of—that he dropped the other shoe. “You remember the friend I mentioned?” he murmured against her forehead.

  She snuggled closer, draped her thigh over his. “Aye.”

  He pulled back to look at her. “He’s traveling north too. Would you mind verra much if he joined us?”

  Her stomach clenched. She tried not to make a face. Because she did. She did mind. She didn’t want to share Daniel with anyone. But the man was his friend and judging from his hopeful expression, he wanted her to say yes. She wanted nothing more than to please him so she said, “That would be…lovely.”